Blood of this Land
by Mei Zhen
Summary: Sometimes a legend doesn't grow. It's simply born. Arthur's Knights were some of those lucky ones. (Slash and het!) PG-13 for some violence later on.
1. The Round Table

A/N: This is suposed to be what happened before the movie 'King Arthur', how most of his knights were slain in battle against the Woads, and the story of those who didn't actually make it to the movie. Lots of beatiful brave ladies and chivalrious knights and their legends. There are no original characters. :) (Oh, and this may contain some slash hints further on (lots of her too, though)... but nothing too graphic in any way.

THIS LAND'S BLOOD- Prologue

It's strange how time remembers some legends and forgets others. Some who fought and died bravely in battle, but whose hero never got to be mentioned. How many of those are there? Countless. But then, some others' courage was told from mothers to daughters and fathers to sons. Some of the legends of knights, savages and impossible love. Some of those were real.

''Keep that courage, I will need it.'' A young boy, slightly older than me, said as I wiped my lower lip with my sleeve. I'd just been punched for trying to recover a lion-shaped pendant that my sister had given me. ''What's your name?''

''Lancelot.'' I said, as ever stroking the lion's head nervously. I had been the last one to arrive to a group of young men, most of them children, that followed Arthur and the romans. Actually, we were cursed to do so until our lives ended or tha romans took pity on us.

''I am Arthur.'' He said, smiling slightly. His eyes shone with a bright light, hope and good. Mine, on the other hand, were still glancing around nervously and wishing to be back home- like all of the other soon to be knights. ''You will be my knights. Don't worry, I will take care of you.''

''Who says I'm worried?'' I replied, hurt in my pride.

Arthur just smiled at my reply. From the first moment I thought that there was something about him that made me feel close to him. Maybe it was the warmth of his eyes or his mere presence. But I sat by him by the fire when he just pretended to ignore me. I looked at the others around me and tried to remember all of their names... that was impossible, at the moment. My mind was still full of fear, of hate... and of interest. Somehow, being a knight could not be a curse. Not with Arthur.

And there were the others, as well. One called Geraint, a teenager, the oldest of us along with Bors, said that he already missed the girl he had at home, a sarmatian called Enid that lived in his village. His eyes were of a pale blue and his hair blond and short. He sounded the most lonely of us all. Maybe because of his age he was the only one to realice that we'd lost home that day.

The twins listened to his melancholic speech. They would have been my age, at the most. Their eyes were green and their hair long and brown. One of them was called Gareth. The other, Gaheris. They were so similar in both appearance and behavior, that at that point no one but their mother would have told the difference. They smiled slightly, trying to hold back the urge to join Geraint in a mad run back home.

I can just recall one really being calm about this all. Maybe not caring about being torn away from his family. His name was Bedivere. He was slightly older than me, and very wise for his age. He was reading a scroll about healing herbs and their properties. He was the one that taught us to read when he caught us off-guard. But many things could be learnt from him. One was patience- one that I never quite learnt. Another younger knight listened to his talking about plants, one called Parsifal.

There were some other brothers apart from the twins. Some guys dressed with furs called Dagoned and Bors. Bors was the older one, more corpulent and way noisier. He'd somehow managed to take the roman guards' wine and offered it to me. Arthur took it and for a moment I thought he'd throw it at his head.

''He'll have time to drink when he's old enough.'' He said, returning the wine to Bors. His brother smiled. He was peaceful and silent, but his eyes were strong and warm. A valuable friend.

''We're never getting away from the romans. He might as well drink until he dies.'' Came a bitter voice. For being the same age as me, Kay was a bitter person. He was tall and had long shiny black hair. I remembered it because of the braids characteristic of his tribe. His eyes were dark and piercing. Out of us all, he was the one that hated the most being here. Not because he hated the slain –he'd admitted liking that- but the fact that he was a prisoner. He was someone who would have rather died free than lived as a slave. And at some point, that's what happened to him. I didn't understand his words back then, but I do now.

''So might you, but I don't see you doing it.'' Tristan snapped back. He had shorter hair, but the same braids as Kay. They came from the same place, and had probably met each other before. While Tristan was a silent person –that was the first time I ever heard him talk- he always knew when he had something to say. Dipping his fingers in ash from the fire, he traced two lines on each of his cheeks. Later on, that would be his tattoo. It was his way of showing that he was a fighter and that we were at war- maybe just against the world.

''You're a painted freak, I should not listen to you.'' Kay replied. Some of the knights laughed. Other, seeing the look on Tristan's face, didn't. But as much as I expected him to jump to the other knight's throat, the 'painted freak' didn't.

''I'm not going to lose my calm because of an angry whiner.'' This time all of the knights laughed. Kay almost looked offended, almost. But he rather had this sort of conversation, where he could insult and molest someone, that a calm, peaceful one.

The last knights were the closest to the fire. Another boy, slightly younger than me with long blonde curls and pale eyes cradled an almost-baby boy in a dark blankett. That was Gawain. The youngest one had dark eyes and soft black curls, and was sleeping soundly in Gawain's lap. Any girl I knew would have yelled they were the cutest sight ever. But to our young and rather evil eyes (only a kid can be cruel enough), it looked a bit different.

''What are you, his boyfriend?'' Kay snapped, looking at Gawain. For a second, we thought that he'd stab Kay with a stick. But soon smiled.

''What, jealous?'' This time even I was laughing. Arthur seemed to be enjoying the company, and so was I. I was thinking that maybe at some point we'd be the best team that Rome and the world had seem.

And we were.


	2. Lady Hawk

A/N: The Lancelot POV is just for the introduction. :) Thanks everyone for the lovely reviews! If you read, please review my story? LOL! Tell me what you'd like to see, or the mistakes I make. Something! Constructive criticism is cherished as well (but please don't count typos!).LOL.

Fina: I can't run spell check in English (it's not my first language), but I'd love to have a beta reader, maybe just for the silly mistakes I may realize I make later. Maybe you could help me there? It's not too easy for me to be aware of the mistakes I make before the chapter it's posted- and by then you can just yell: 'NOOOOOOOOOOOO!'. lol) Enjoy! :)

BLOOD OF THIS LAND

Sometimes he wished never to go back. To find his own peace in Rome and forget about his origins. The missions would certainly be painless, then. Lancelot admired Arthur because he remained loyal to the cause and to his knights, never to himself or his own lust for power. He would have followed Arthur to hell doubtlessly, he had been doing so for almost fifteen years. And now he just started feeling at peace with it all.

This place, either he liked it or not, had become home. But a home where he did not wish to stay more than the necessary. The mission assigned to them had been very easy, he remembered the letter that had been sent from Rome to Arthur that he'd read aloud for his knights.

There was an Irish princess that had to be taken as a bride for a Christian king, Mark of Cornualles. The knights were reaching now the gates of the maiden's castle. They'd been promised that they'd find a castle behind the forest, but Tristan came back from the front with news that there wasn't such a thing.

To the knight's surprise, what was there instead of the impressing fortress they'd expected was a Celt village. The first thing that came to Lancelot's mind was that this could mean nothing but doom. The Celts were even wilder than the Woads (if that was possible), only even more ancient. Their tribes were fierce and even vicious, and he was about to turn to Arthur and tell him that either Galahad had pointed out the wrong turn on the map (as he often did) or this was a big mistake.

But something told him that with their luck, this would be the place.

''Oh, no.'' Geraint said. ''Arthur, not the Celts. You really don't want to mess with the Celts.''

''One of their princesses is supposed to sign peace with the Romans through marriage. Geraint, don't let your senses fail you. You know the Celts have seen us. If you are still alive it's because they don't want you dead.'' The future king scanned the trees above him and could feel the eyes upon him. Celt hunters who'd never stop watching them until they received news from them that peace was signed.

''You say that as if they weren't murdering savages.'' Kay snapped.

''They are, but so are you.'' Tristan said back. If the knights hadn't felt the eyes and weapons on them, they would have laughed. Only Bors allowed himself a smirk.

''You know what happened to Bedivere.'' Said Gaheris, never losing eye-contact with his twin Gareth. ''These men have done nothing to us but evil. I'm not saying that they are not worthy of our pity or respect- only that we should not forget what they've done to us in the past.''

Bedivere was the one who remained most unaffected by these words. Maybe because he was the only one who actually knew what they meant. A few years earlier, in a battle against the Celts, one of them had chopped of his hand with a blade. The lost limb was taken as a trophy, and it had been a battle that the knights had lost- most of them were very young still and almost unable to fight properly. That they, they'd lost more than a battle- they'd lost their faith.

Bedivere's arm was now partly covered in metal. The hardest iron was soft against his skin, imitating the hand that he'd lost. He was still able to fight with his other hand, but he could hardly do anything else with his right hand than use it as a shield. Due to his ability in healing, he hadn't died of blood loss. But he'd been near enough.

Arthur's sister had been the one to have a metal arm done for him, and with the rumors about her magical powers (of which no one could really tell if there were or not), nobody in Christendom would have dared disobeying her. She was someone hated and feared at Hadrian's Wall. Thus she usually lived confined in her own chamber. When she made a trip to the outside world, the Romans would cross their fingers and hope to not be turned into toads. She'd presented the new limb to Bedivere as a gift for his bravery and as an apology for the Celts- who'd been her own people as well, even if they'd never been Arthur's.

By the time when they reached the Celt village, its inhabitants were already gathered there, either to thank them help achieve peace with a greater enemy, or to shoot all the knights dead on the spot. Someone with tattooed chest and face made his way to Arthur and said something that only he understood. Although Arthur was unable to speak their language, he knew enough words as to know that the leader of the tribe was telling him about who they'd be transporting to her new home.

''What did he say?'' Galahad asked Arthur, looking around curiously.

''That her name is Isolde.'' He pointed to the biggest house the Celts had built, and from it came a hooded woman. The cloak fell over to her feet, and none of the knights was able to make out her face inside the dark robe. She walked to Arthur and the Celt leader gave one last advice to him- possibly the safest route back home, then sent the woman to him. She looked at the future king for a moment, and just nodded. Some women covered in black ash tattoos and designs carved upon their own skin gave some of the knights supplies.

She walked in front of them to the end of the forest and the knights followed close. That was so the hunters up the trees knew that she was with them and that there hadn't been any problems. Once out of the village, Arthur descended her horse and let her climb onto it.

The knights gazed oddly at each other- it looked like they'd completely lost their ability to speak. And it couldn't have been because they were intimidated, since she was a rather petite woman and up to now hadn't shown any qualities except for the ability to make everyone shut up. Yes, even Bors.

She looked rather unwilling to climb onto Arthur's horse. He turned to her and tried to explain with a few words in her language that the journey would be long and that she'd need to be rested by when they reached Hadrian's Wall, and later on her new home. But she kept refusing his offer with words that (at least to the knights' ears) seemed polite.

Arthur decided that he'd walk with her instead, at least for a while. The other knights did nothing but think that so much diplomacy had finally affected him and now he lowered himself to anyone, even some Celt fighters. Parsifal was the first one to make a comment about this, and it wasn't too nice either.

''She'll slow us down, Arthur. Just pick her up and let's get on with this normally.'' Parsifal was the only one out of all the warriors to accept Christianity and the rules of the Romans. The only thing he would have changed was the obligatory attachment to this group- he would have rather had his friends following Arthur willingly.

At the knight's words, the woman seemed to turn her head slightly to him and backed away even more from Arthur. Parsifal bit his lower lip, worried: she could understand their language. That was probably why she was the most fit to marry Mark and not any other Celt. It was unusual for them to learn their language, but the necessity for peace must have made them act.

Regardless of this, the lady had to reach her destiny one way or another. And if that meant tying her to a horse, it was what they would do. And while Arthur hesitated about doing so (a Celt offended was known to be very dangerous), Kay didn't. Appearing from the back of the group, he dashed past the lady and with a swift movement lifted her off her feet and placed her onto his horse. The lady stirred a bit, but didn't say a word.

Isolde turned to look at him, and that was when he was able to see part of her face. Her eyes were of a pale bluish gray, and copper brown bangs fell over her eyes. Her hair was straight, but didn't fall lifeless and limp over to her shoulders- it was a sort of lion look alike. But what Kay also saw in her eyes was rage. And before he could say something, he was doomed.

''Ow!'' He said right after she elbowed him hard and jumped off his horse, taking off in the distance. She didn't run back to her village, she seemed to want to break free from everyone and everything. To get lost in a world that would have betrothed her to someone who she despised.

Arthur sent Lancelot a look that was the most panicked one he'd seen from his friend for ages.

The twins readied their bows to shoot her down if necessary, but Arthur stopped them. At his sign, Tristan was the one who took after her. Arthur gestured for his other knights to wait –he was the best hunter, after all.

She heard the horse close behind her, and rushed into the woods near them. There wasn't too much space between the trees, so he wouldn't be able to continue. The sun started setting, and she felt her time running out. Being alone in the wild was a lot better than being trapped between the walls of a cold fortress where no one would see her as anything other than a way to peace.

But deep inside she knew this was selfish. To put her own desires before her people's was probably the most horrid thing she'd ever do. She pondered about going to Mark's house herself to prove her worth, not escorted as if taken prisoner. But before she could take a decision, it had been taken for her.

Tristan jumped off a tree right in front of her and she asked herself how it had been possible for her not to hear him. But of course that would be underestimating Tristan. She attempted to run away again, but this time she'd been grabbed by the arm and was practically being pushed back to where the others where. She pulled back and yelled the worst insults at him, but he didn't lose his grip.

He let her scream and pull back, not letting his eyes change. He remained calm as ever. When he reached his horse, to everyone's surprise, he got slapped. The only sign that he'd actually got hurt was that he blinked. He turned around and Isolde swallowed hard. He observed her, all made a mess. Her cape had been practically fallen to the floor while she struggled, and the right arm that he'd been grabbing was covered in tattoos made by fire onto skin. Her hair didn't reach much more than past her shoulders, and here eyes scolded him in silence.

He just pointed to the horse.

''Enough of this.'' Isolde lowered her gaze. This was a childish attitude, and even though she was tempted to take off towards anywhere but with the knights, she knew she didn't have a choice. Slowly she crept up the horse and stood there, with the cape hanging from her shoulder, dismantled and messed up, looking at nothing but the horse's head. Tristan finally stopped eyeing her close and as if nothing had happened, jumped onto the horse right behind her. She didn't scold or flinch, she just remained silent.

''Why can he boss her around like that and not me?'' Kay complained.

''Because she won't be groped on her way home, to start with.'' Gawain answered. Tristan smiled slightly and the other knights laughed. Arthur made everyone start moving and they continued with their journey.

The tension dissipated after a while, and the knights became themselves again. Arthur was the first to go, along with the twins that followed him close. Tristan and the Celt had been placed in the center of the company, so that the knights would be able to defend her in case it was needed.

''I doubt she'd need us to defend her.'' Gaheris commented when Dagoned brought up the topic. ''The tattoos on her right arm indicate she is a warrior.'' Isolde seemed rather pleased by this comment. She was slowly getting to know who the knights were just by hearing them snap at each other. She observed every one of them until her gaze was finally fixed on the one that was at her right.

''What's so interesting about Galahad, lady?'' Lancelot asked her with a smirk.

''His legs.'' She answered. Galahad blushed bright red and she smiled. It was logical to be looked at when he practically showed them all around the place with that short skirt of his. ''They're nicer than mine.''

The knights laughed, and even Arthur, who was pretty ahead of them uttered a smirk.

''It seems you've got a competitor, Gawain.'' Bors said, sending Isolde a conspiring smile.

''Drop dead.'' Laughter erupted again.

She started to realize that she rather enjoyed the company of the knights, despite being forcefully attached to them. Well, she'd reach King Mark's house and save everyone big trouble... The group was finally reaching Hadrian's Wall, and soon Arthur's home was near. She felt uneasy. She'd never been in any other city that wasn't of her own people.

''Don't worry.'' Tristan said. ''I don't think anyone would be stupid enough to molest a Celt. Except maybe Bors.'' Bors let out a sarcastic laugh and the others decided to just smile until they reached home. ''If I were you, I'd be more afraid of the man you're about to marry.''

''You could always swap places with Galahad.'' Kay offered. ''I don't think anyone would tell the difference.'' He snapped. Galahad just sighed, exasperated, and put on a 'Why me?' face.

''We could always send you instead of her.'' Lancelot snapped back. ''He is a rather vicious person, he'd enjoy your company. And we enjoy the lady's better than yours.''

''Agreed!'' Said Bors. ''Vanora locks the door every time he's back safely. '' It was widely known that Bors' wife was temperamental and almost as fierce as the Woads. She didn't hesitate before slapping Lancelot, scolding Galahad or simply lecturing everyone on their bad habits. But Kay was the only one she believed bad-intentioned. And now she was pregnant she became even more paranoid.

''What are you naming your first kid, Bors?'' Gaheris asked.

''That depends on whether it looks like me... or Lancelot.'' At the mention of his name, he smirked. The others took this usual joke either rolling their eyes or smiling.

''If they look like me they'll charm everyone.''

''Or get slapped by barmaids.'' Gawain spat back. ''Which happens often.'' Lancelot sent him a poisoned stare.

''I think you are scaring the lady.'' Dagoned said. ''She'll think we're a bunch of morons.''

''I think she knew that from the moment she saw us.'' Gareth laughed.

''Actually, it was Kay who gave you away.'' Isolde finished. The others tried to hold back the laugh... but couldn't. Kay looked ready to kill.

Tristan let her join the others with the puns and laughter. He'd barely uttered a word on their way back home. Mark of Cornualles seemed to be in a battle against the Saxons in the North of Britain, that could take him a while. That was why Arthur was supposed to keep Isolde safe until they were able to get her to him. But Tristan started to think he'd miss her. And he rarely missed anyone.

''Arthur.'' The knight called. ''Where is she staying?''

''Not with you. You become dangerous under the full moon.'' Bors started howling, and soon the remaining knights were copying him.

''She'll decide that herself!'' Arthur almost had to scream above the howls.

Isolde smiled behind her at Tristan.

''Then I think I've decided.''

''Kay, she just turned you down forever.'' Lancelot stated with a smirk.

''Drop dead.''


	3. Heart of Ice

A/N: Thank you everyone for the lovely reviews... I will try to check my spelling and all of that stuff (thanks for pointing out the mistakes), but I still think I need a beta. If someone would be as kind as to help me out of this mess, I'd be thankful forever. LMAO.

It's true that Vanora is Bors' lover, not his wife (or a second my mind forgot the whole 'pagan' plot point. LOL.), and yeah, Dagonet was spelled wrong. I went to a KA page with the proper knights and he is called Lamorak instead (but it's still the same guy). So bascally the page I checked didn't help me at all with the names (the ones I got right I already knew. :P). Sorry about that. Oh, and one more detail- Dagonet WILL have a girlfriend in this too (same as in the legends)... you just wait. ;)

BLOOD OF THIS LAND

The mountains were cold, way too cold for her taste. She hated the mere sight of them, the ice and the snow. But, over all, she hated to travel along with an army of Saxon soldiers who behaved like wild beasts. She watched them from her horse, walking and screaming as they examined the land that at some point she was sure they'd take.

And she would lead them. She was the daughter of one of the most important Saxon leaders, Pelleas, and the soldiers would have all died protecting her. But she would have not shown affection or remorse either if they lived or died for her- a lady of ice, that was what she was. Proud and high, strong.

''This land is taken for you, my lady.'' A soldier came to her, and knelt down as he let her observe the mountain villages that they'd made surrender or die. She looked at the soldier and managed a small, cold smile.

''And what is the name of my land, good servant?'' Her voice was icy and distant. Her sky blue hood covered her face and trimmed fur covered what would have been seen of her eyes. Only her hands were seen, pale and perfect, holding onto her mount.

''Shalott.'' He quickly answered.

She brought her hands up and retired her hood slowly, and could feel the gazes of the knights closest to her fixed on her face. Her eyes were blue, almost white, feline and hardened by all she'd seen. Her skin was flawless- it often happened with women who didn't have to work nor fight. Her pale pink lips curled in the stone cold smile that she'd managed earlier, still. Her livid golden hair was limp and fell losely around her face and disappeared under the rest of the cloak that covered her.

As the soldiers stared in awe or continued with their journey, the one who'd come to her continued.

''You shall now be named Elaine, the Lady of Shalott.''

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

''Welcome.'' A voice greeted Arthur as soon as he descended his horse. Dark grey eyes observed him from behind a mane of ebony curls. He smiled as he turned around to face his beautiful sister. The entrance was almost empty- when the witch appeared, everyone else decided to take off in different directions.

''Morgan.''He said, and embraced her. ''I would have come to your chamber anyway.'' She let out a small laugh and nodded.

''But I wouldn't have been able to see her.'' She pointed at Isolde. ''And I wouldn't have had the pleasure of feeling the wind on my face. There is just so much you can do between walls, Arthur. Keeping company is almost impossible.''

As Arthur opened his mouth to reply, Galahad practically tossed himself into Morgan's arms. She had raised him as if he were her own child. All of the knights had been in need of a female presence that would take care of them, and Morgan had been the only one brave enough to play the part. Many ladies had fallen in love with the knights and their pride, but none of them would have been able to handle Gawain's hangovers, Bors' songs at late night, Kay's temper and Galahad's nostalgic moments quite as well.

Except maybe Arthur.

''Welcome home '' She told the knights with a smile, and they all waited for their turn to see her and then headed to their houses. Bors left quickly saying that Vanora would have his head if he didn't appear as soon as possible, dragging Dagonet along with him.

Geraint parted with a smile on his face, thinking about his beautiful lover, Enid. Somehow, the sarmatian young girl he'd loved had come to serve the romans. She'd left her village and headed to the fortress ferlessly, until she was given a job at the tavern Vanora commanded. Arthur was conforted by this, that in a time of war they'd managed to find peace. They were about to marry.

The twins threatened to drink until they needed to sing, and Gawain decided to go with them (thus Galahad had no other choice but to follow him). Kay and Bedivere decided to go to sleep, and when Parsifal called them 'lazy bastards' he got slapped by Kay. He left to study his healing herbs cursing under his breath. Morgan let them all leave her, watching every single one of them get lost in the distance by turn. Arthur observed her patiently.

Isolde and Tristan still stood where they'd descended the horse. Morgan turned to them, never losing her smile. Tristan greeted her without smiling- not because he didn't like her, simply because it wouldn't have been like him to smile in a moment like this. She would have pointed it out too.

''The Celt Princess'' Morgan saluted her and then spoke softly in the language of her people. Isolde looked surprised for a moment, but quickly nodded and smiled. ''Welcome.''

Isolde and Morgan spoke a few sentences more under the stare of the men. Morgan finished the conversation with a final, wider smile, and turned to Arthur.

''What did she tell you?'' Arthur asked as the Celt and Tristan walked away.

''Her name.'' She simply answered. Arthur looked about to say 'impossible', but his sister continued. ''To you and to your knights she is Isolde. But to her people, she is the Hawk Lady. ''

''And?'' The Roman asked, guessing that there was something she wasn't telling him, judging by her smile.

''And her trip had gone well.''

''Morgan, please.''

''Alright. I asked her about the knights, and she said she'd felt confortable.''

''And that means...?'' He asked.

''And that means that if Mark takes a long time befote he comes back, he may have no wife.'' Morgan finished. She would have laughed if Mark hadn't been one of the most feared men in Britain.

''So, that will be a problem.'' He said, biting his lower lip.

''It may, but I'm not certain.'' She casually corrected him. Arthur remembered the way Tristan had spent the journey just watching her laugh, how she looked back at him every moment, and how they'd left the conversation to look into each other's eyes before someone cracked a joke and there was a roar of laughter.

''I am.''

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

''You will stay here until your future husband comes back from war.'' Tristan said as Isolde stepped into the room he showed her. A fire had been lit in the room, the wide bed seemed comfortable, and the fur carpet warm. Isolde was happy with simple things. She looked back at him.

''And how long will that be?''

''We suppose it shouldn't be more than a few days.''

''I will miss this place, I won't have time to know it.''

''You'll be glad to leave if Kay decides to bother you, believe me.''

Isolde smiled. Tristan watched the reflection of the fire on her auburn locks, but quickly looked away and foccused on... the carpet. As if he hadn't noticed it before or found it extremely interesting - none was true.

They fell silent again. Isolde started to notice that Tristan didn't talk too much unless he was asked or he had to make a funny comment. But she was glad for that- at least she didn't have to deal with more ranting men that wanted her attention. And for once felt rather sorry, for she would have wanted his.

The sun had set and Tristan used it as an excuse to leave before he blew Arthur's plans for peace between Romans and Celts. He lifted his gaze to her again to see that she was still staring at him.

''It's late. I'd reccomend that you sleep before the twins' songs don't let you anymore.'' He said with a hint of a smile. She nodded and swallowed hard, but said nothing. He took this as his cue to leave, and turned on his heels.

''Where do you sleep?'' She asked once he'd just crossed the treshold. She blinked right after that because this looked abrupt and... not quite right. But well, the Romans already considered her savage and wild, so it's not as if they'd think worse of her.

''Next door.'' He answered. He knew the other knights would have whistled and made wolf calls if they'd heard it. Come to it, he could almost hear them... and actually, he did. He turned around to see Kay rushing upstairs making fun of him as he recovered some arrows he'd left in the wrong house as they prepared to leave.

Isolde almost laughed, but then just decided to let him leave and go to sleep. As it it were possible. Tristan went up to Kay, who was pickig his arrows and readied himself to leave right after that.

''You love torturing me.''

''It's nothing personal. I love torturing anyone.'' Kay answered with a wide grin, slightly cruel. His trademark smile. ''So, I will leave now and let you... sleep.'' The last word was uttered in a tune that made Tristan grimace slightly under his braids. Kay just let out a laugh and went out of the house. In the streets the songs of the twins were starting to be heard.

''It's going to be a long night...'' Tristan muttered.


	4. Greeneyed Monster

A/N: It's taken me a goddamned long time to continue this story. Been very busy. But I tell you, I will finish it if it's the last thing I do. This chapter will be extra long to make up for the mess I've done. Or more like, for the mess I have NOT done for a rather long time. Anyways, thanks everyone for the reviews. :) Enjoy! (Kungfuchick, your review was very useful, and you were not an insufferable know-it-all! LOL Here, have a cookie!) :) Many hugs to all reviewers!

It was strange how only two people could make so much noise. Amazing, but true. Gaheris and Gareth, similar in body and soul, had been singing since their first drink. One could have thought that, by now, they would have been fed up with the ancient songs from all possible places of Sarmatia –but no. If they were unable to come up with a new one, they asked Vanora. If that didn't work either, they'd repeat one.

Galahad's head was starting to hurt.

He desperately tried to come up with an excuse to leave, but every time he got up from his chair, Gawain pulled him onto it again and tried to make him join the conversation he was having with Bors. The only one who seemed able to understand him was Dagonet –Galahad suspected that his head hurt too. Vanora kept bringing more beer and cold drinks, and the twins' stomachs seemed to be bottomless pits. Honestly, that was their twentieth pint.

Enid got them some meat and bread. She was a young, pretty girl, about to marry Geraint, who sat behind Galahad talking to some roman soldiers. Her hair was a long flow of honey curls, and her green eyes shone above her constant smile. She even got some cold water with herbs for Galahad and Dagonet so that they got rid of the headache. What she didn't know is that it would act as a laxative – she noticed the effect it had on some roman soldiers three seconds before the knights could drink, and she snatched the mugs away from them as if they were filled with snakes.

''…Enid…'' Dagonet was puzzled.

''I'm sorry, I think I got you some alcohol, I'll be right back.'' She shot them a nervous grin and disappeared into the tavern, cursing herself for being so thoughtless. Of course, it's not as if she really pitied the Romans. She happily let them take off, emptying a table. Her soon-to-be husband sent her a puzzled look, but she just shrugged as she got some cold drinks for the two knights – if they didn't want to drink them, she'd just pour them over their heads. Maybe the cold would make their brains freeze and hurt less.

As she headed back to the table, she accidentally bumped into a woman. The contents of one of the mugs spilled over the twins' heads and Galahad's skirt (A/N: Yes, I know it's a kilt, but it's still a skirt. LMAO.) The young knight freaked out slightly, but at least now he had a reasonable excuse to get off his seat. Although Gawain never quite stopped laughing – he was unable to – he followed Galahad out of the tavern after a quick goodbye for everyone else. And surprisingly enough, the twins had stopped singing. Maybe because of the sudden cold on their heads. Enid didn't even bother to apologize.

She was busy looking at the woman she'd just bumped into. Morgause – Arthur's sister as well. She was married to King Lot, someone that Enid didn't particularly like. Actually, she didn't like him at all. Morgause was one of those slender, frail women, very lady-like, and blessed with a delicate, fair beauty that Enid would never have – maybe because she had to work and could not remain still _á la_ wallflower.

But she did not envy her. Her husband ignored her, absorbed as he was in his own business. Her children had been taken by nannies. She had no job and no responsibilities, and sometimes that can be worse than being very busy. She did not visit Hadrian's wall too often, but when she did, she had the habit of visiting the tavern, only to know what everyone was doing in there. Enid knew that, if someone asked her, she'd say her name was Anna – her husband would not like her hanging around with people who were not the highest nobility.

Enid had fallen into the name trap herself. She'd met Morgause one evening when the tavern was mostly empty. She'd been surprised to see a richly dressed lady in such a place, and had watched her golden locks from afar. She'd served her some wine, and when the lady had lifted her head, she'd taken a step back.

Purple.

Yes, Morgause's eyes were purple. Or some sort of blue that shifted strangely under the fire's light. She'd been amazed. She'd heard stories of how Arthur and his family were not totally from this world – she rarely saw Morgana, but was terrified of her, even if the knight's stories of her dark beauty entranced her. Arthur was going to lead them all, some said, he was going to become the greatest hero that Britain would ever have. And Morgause… Enid guessed that she was no exception. Anna, she'd called her, until Arthur had told her of her disguise. Of course the lady had apologized for it, and whenever she returned she sat alone in a table until Enid could talk to her.

But this time it was slightly different. She sat down at a table at the corner, but Enid was not the only person who observed her. Dagonet, lost in thought, had seemed to sink into her purple eyes. Enid was about to start plucking her hair out – they all knew about Lot's viciousness. Then again, they also knew about Kay's, and still they teased and joked with him. Enid put a hand on the knight's shoulder, and sent him a warning look.

''Dag…'' She started. He looked at her for a moment and nodded, understanding. It was someone out of his reach. He simply turned around and started talking to Geraint.

Enid had known about this for a while now. When the knights had met Morgause, the most surprised one had been Dagonet. She smiled slightly at the fact that none of them had wanted to be recognized when they'd first met – she'd called herself Anna, and he'd hidden as Lionel. But of course when Arthur had decided to introduce everyone to her, the knight's face had been priceless. Things they'd felt had been buried deep inside their souls… But never forgotten. They'd prevented another meeting since then, until now.

It must have been fate. And when fate calls, you have to answer.

But the lady stood there frozen in place, sitting at her table as if she'd never seen the knight. Usually she would have greeted Enid, not simply bumped into her with no word. But it had been Dagonet's presence that made her remain silent. The young bartender sighed. There was nothing she could do to save them, either.

''Shut up already!'' She bellowed at the twins, as they engaged themselves in the fifth time they sang a lullaby called 'Golden Starlight' in who-knows-what language. They blinked and observed her as if she'd grown another head. She just snorted – more like, growled at them, and simply headed off to serve some men who'd just sat at an empty table.

The twins, a bit stunned, ended up shrugging and started singing once again as if nothing had happened. There was an 'Argh!' from Enid that of course everyone heard… but them.

Isolde could not sleep. Or didn't want to, she couldn't really tell. Although she was tired, she felt there was something left to do, something that she could not get away without doing. For a moment she thought about checking on Tristan – who wasn't sleeping either, judging from the noise of footsteps up and down the house.

For a second she thought about waking up, but she decided against it after a moment. What would she tell him, anyway? There was just so much that you could talk about to a person you were hopelessly attracted to, and still could never have. After a whole day of standing too close to him, of watching him, of wishing she could stay with the Christians that she hated that same morning, she wasn't really ready for peaceful, normal conversation.

And still. She couldn't sleep, so what was the point of remaining there and staring at the ceiling when there were so many things she could be doing? She tried not to think about all 'those things'. First, because Christians seemed to think it was an irremediable sin – despite the fact that they were all in the world because of it. And second, because if she did she wouldn't stay in bed for too long.

At least not in hers, that is.

After a while of twisting and turning in one's bed, we all know it gets boring. Or tiring, it depends. But you are lucky if after so many turns you fall asleep – when you're stressed, though, it doesn't happen. No matter how much you try, you remain staring at the ceiling into nothingness, with your mind apparently empty but still filled with your problem. And that was exactly what happened to Isolde. A part of her wanted to meet Tristan, and a part of her wished that she didn't have to do anything and he just showed up in her room instead_. I don't think I'll be that lucky_. She thought. At least she was realistic.

Then the sound outside stopped, and it seemed as if Tristan had finally gone to bed. There was no noise for a moment, and then if she paid enough attention, she could hear the steady breathing of someone who was asleep. She was about to get up and slap him then for being so lucky – the bastard could sleep and she was stuck with… insomnia. And several moral dilemmas.

After a while more of twisting and turning, she decided that it was about time she took a walk. At least if Tristan was asleep, she would not have to deal with her problems somewhere she could be seen. She rose from the bed and walked to his room to make sure he slept – he did. Swallowing hard, she walked around. A noise outside caught her attention, and she looked out the window.

Well, at least it seemed that she was not the only one who could not sleep. Kay stood downstairs, in some sort of stable, apparently fixing his weapons and polishing a bow. She watched him for a minute, and then headed downstairs.

She found him easily, sitting with a heap of weapons around him. She tried not to make a noise, even stopped breathing for a second. And then he turned around, to stare right at her. He smiled slightly.

''I heard you.'' She suspected it was not true, but didn't dare telling him that. So she just walked to him as he returned to the sword he was polishing in silence. ''Couldn't sleep, could you?''

''Would I be here if I could?'' She answered quickly.

''Not unless you were deaf. The twin's songs are getting louder every minute.'' Kay snapped back. It was true, Isolde realized. They kept getting louder, and at some point someone would soak them with water if they didn't let everyone at the wall sleep.

There was an embarrassing silence between them. It seemed that neither of them had much to say – Kay probably didn't want to say anything either. Once he was done with the sword, he turned his attention to the bow he'd just fixed. Isolde watched the carved wood, the tight string, and the arrows that lay sprawled over the floor. Kay must have had a good shot, she assumed. During the journey there hadn't been the need to prove it, but she'd been told that in the region of Sarmatia where Kay and Tristan came from, archers were specially good, able to shoot a man from miles away and not miss for an inch.

''Did you make that?'' She asked him, curious, taking the bow from him when he offered it. She ran her fingers over the carvings, the design on the wood, and the tensed rope.

''Yes.'' He answered. ''But during our last trip to the Woad lands the thread broke. I tried to fix it tonight, but I'm not sure it worked. I should try tomorrow, and let's hope it doesn't snap on me again.''

''I could try it for you.'' Isolde answered quickly, happy to have started some conversation – hey, Kay had seemed much worse when surrounded by the others. Now she looked into his eyes in the dim stable and noticed for the first time that it was his dark hair and the glare that made his eyes seem so dark – actually, they were of a rather stunning blue. The braids were almost all gone now, and his long hair fell over his back with the elegance of a lion, or more like – of an untamed beast. Even his smile (the first one he'd uttered since she'd met him) was rather feral, with slightly bigger, pointier fangs. He seemed amused when she offered to try the bow.

''You have some guts.'' He answered, not losing his ironic smile for a moment. ''I wouldn't let you, you may get hurt.'' The only hurt thing around was Isolde's pride. She felt insulted – how dare he? She was a Celt, a warrior. She could probably shoot as good as him – if not better. When he held out his hand to take the bow from her, she refused to give it back, and instead picked up an arrow and with amazing skill shot a wooden column in the dark. The arrow hit its target.

But the thread snapped. In a split second, Isolde's forearm was bleeding profusely from the whip-like thread that had swiftly cut her flesh. She was lucky it had not been her eye. She didn't even scream, she just gasped, and then dropped the bow. Kay had seemed to panic for a moment, and quickly got up and tried to find a piece of cloth to close the wound. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be one around, and even if there had been, he had a serious lack of skill in healing. Hey, you can't have everything.

''I told you so.'' He said finally finding a dirty piece of clothing that he'd rather not cover the would with. Isolde, on the other hand, wasn't as scrupulous. She tried to clean the blood with the cloth, and didn't seem to mind the dirt at all.

She didn't answer him at first. He was trying his best to apologize now, in his own way – this meant, he tried to get the blame off himself, like many other men do. She kept cleaning blood and blood, but it seemed to be a rather deep cut, and even though she would not be seriously wounded, she may have to deal with the blood loss, superficial as it was. It probably looked worse than it really was, she mused, and that's what she told Kay, who finally shut up after he saw she was alright after all.

But before she could really nurse the wound herself, footsteps behind them ended their conversation. Tristan stood not too far away – he'd either heard the gasp, the conversation, or the racket Kay had made in his quest for some rags. That didn't matter much, judging from the look on his eyes.

The look of a hunted animal, of someone defending his territory, and over all – of a jealous lover. Kay was about to make a wisecrack about that, but decided against it just before the words came out of his mouth, since something he did not want to lose today was his head.

''What was happening?'' Tristan asked, and quickly made Isolde drop the dirty piece of cloth that would surely end up infecting the wound if she pushed it into the flesh. He watched both the Celt and the knight, and seemed to be expecting an answer – when he got none, he grabbed Isolde's unharmed hand and started going back into the house, leaving Kay there on his own, looking at the floor and pretending he wasn't even aware of the presence of anyone else – as if he'd never seen or even heard Tristan at all.

As they left, his eyes fell on the floor, on the trail of blood that had been left behind. As he picked up the discarded piece of bloodied cloth, he remembered the warm eyes, the pride in them, the lioness that possessed them. He lifted his eyes for a split second to catch the shape of the warrior maiden, dragged back home by one of his friends. As they disappeared in the shadows, Kay dropped the fabric angrily and snorted.

He most definitely did not like her, he kept telling himself.

''I don't expect you to explain anything.'' Tristan said, as Isolde started telling him about the broken bow and the cut, about how she meant no harm or to make him worry… but she was interrupted, and soon she knew that nothing she could say would fix the wound.

No, and she didn't mean the one in her hand.

Tristan cleaned the wound quickly and started applying some sort of herbal remedy over the cut, then covered it with a clean stripe of fabric. He didn't say anything else at the moment, and didn't look at Isolde in the eye. He pretended to observe the candle that was slowly burning on the table, consuming itself. Just like passion that should never exist – it burns and then slowly fades. That was how he saw all this mess: as something that should not be, and would not be as far as he was concerned.

''…''Isolde wanted to say something, but words somehow decided to go on strike on her brain. What would she say, anyway? ''I was safe, really…'' She muttered, thinking that the knight's greatest worry was her safety.

''With him?'' Tristan asked, as if mocking what she'd just said. ''Safe with Kay? You hardly know him, and yet you say you are safe with him.''

''I also think I'm safe with you and I've known you for as long as him. Actually, he was first.''

''He'd be a murderer without remorse.'' Her eyes were screaming 'And so would you.' Tristan decided to change argument, because that one didn't work. ''I told you that it was better if you didn't hang out with Kay alone. Arthur himself suspects him sometimes. Maybe not his loyalty itself, but his reasons for loyalty. He's not one of those people you trust.''

''You trust him in battle.''

''In battle. Not necessarily out of it.'' He answered. ''Isolde, believe me when I tell you that he is like a wild beast. Don't put too much trust in him.'' He shook his head and started to head back to his room. He thought about what he'd just said, and realized it was only partly true. He _did_ trust Kay. Suspected his reasons sometimes, but didn't believe he'd betray them at all. So then, why was he reacting like this?

Isolde seemed silent for a moment, then she started walking to her room again, bumping into Tristan on her way there, and not muttering an apology or not even a complaint. She just passed him by, and their eyes met for a moment.

''I thought lone wolves were never jealous.'' Isolde muttered, then got into her room, leaving a speechless Tristan behind. She was offended this time, and not because her value had been put to test. What gave Tristan the right to lecture her like that? She could do whatever she wanted, could she? Kay was not a danger to her, so why was he reacting like that? And, over all, why should she care about what he said? Who had given him permission to make that sort of comments?

She sat in silence for a moment, at the edge of the bed. Maybe, she mused, she had.


End file.
